


Sapphire

by Mithen



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: First Time, Genderswap, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-30
Updated: 2007-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen





	Sapphire

She was far from the most beautiful woman at the costume ball, but she was without a doubt the most striking.  Through the evening Bruce Wayne's eyes kept finding themselves on her:  her tall and well-curved body sheathed in a low-cut midnight-blue evening gown, long black hair that slid down her back unbound like an ebony waterfall, a square jaw that belied lush red lips.  The top half of her face was hidden by a indigo-feathered domino she held before her eyes on a wand, matching the black-feathered one Bruce held himself.  During one of his increasingly-open stares at her, he thought he caught a glimpse of blue eyes behind the mask.

The woman caught the tail end of one of his appraising gazes and met his eyes squarely, her lips curving beneath the mask.  Then she excused herself from the group she was with and made her way to a quieter corner.

Bruce followed her.

As he approached she swiveled to meet him and suddenly teetered on her stiletto heels in a surprisingly awkward motion, catching herself against the wall.  "Stupid," she said to herself with a wry grin.

"First day on the new feet?" he said as he drew near, then kicked himself.  Lameness of the line aside, it called attention to her graceless moment;  he'd had socialites flounce away from him in pique for less.  Of course, he had usually been trying to make them flounce off.

He didn't want this woman to flounce off.

But she looked at him through the eyeholes of the mask, another flash of blue, and smiled easily.  "I don't often wear high heels."  Her voice was low, husky, a ripple of laughter running just beneath the surface.

Bruce drew his black-feathered mask aside and smiled as well.  "I hate masks.  My name's Bruce Wayne.  And you are...?"

The woman lowered her mask as well, revealing blue eyes, heavily kohled and ringed by a sooty fringe of long black lashes.  "I'm not fond of masks either, Mr. Wayne.  But this _is_ a costume party, so I feel perhaps I shouldn't tell you my name.  What would _you_ like to call me?"

Bruce considered, tilting his head to the side in exaggerated pondering.  "I'll call you Sapphire, then, although the glory of your gem-like eyes far outshines mere jewels."

She laughed.  Not a polite giggle;  she threw back her glossy black head and laughed whole-heartedly, the white column of her throat curved with delight.

Bruce Wayne knew at that moment he was going to get this woman into bed before the evening was through, somehow.

The woman he had called Sapphire leaned back against the wall as she stopped laughing and looked at him again.  "You're very charming, Mr. Wayne." 

"As are you."  He didn't even try to hide the frank desire on his face, and as she met his gaze a hectic flush came to her cheeks and her glorious eyelashes lowered slightly.  "I especially like that you didn't wear any jewelry at all tonight."  He reached out and touched a finger very lightly to her bare earlobe.  "It's a bold woman who comes to a party with no adornment but her own beauty."  He moved his hand to trace an arc on her wrist where a bracelet would go.  "Not even a necklace."  This time he started on one pale shoulder and trailed his finger along the curve a necklace would fall, feeling her breast rising and falling with her breath, up to the other shoulder.

Sapphire stared at him.  "I just forgot, actually."  She reached out almost tentatively and touched his temple, moving her long fingers into his hair very delicately.  "I like your hair," she whispered.  She shifted her hand to trace his lips.  "And your mouth."  She was staring at her hand on his mouth, caressing his lower lip with her fingers.  "I wanted to touch your mouth..from the moment I saw you for the first time.  Your beautiful mouth."  Her voice sounded remote and dreamy, somehow sad.  Her fingers were cool and steady on his lips;  Bruce imagined them stroking down his body and felt lust strike through him, lifting him above himself.  "I wanted to kiss you."

"Nothing's stopping you."

"No."  Sapphire looked at him for a very long moment.  "Nothing's stopping me."  She stepped forward into his arms and brought her mouth to his, very gently. 

It was a short kiss, mindful of the people all around them, but when she broke away they stared at each other for a long time.  Bruce could feel the shadow-imprint of her body all down his, and it took him a moment to manage to speak.  "Will you come with me?" he asked, unable to make it flowery or courtly or anything but honest.  "I'll get a room.  Come and be with me tonight."

Sapphire licked her lower lip, then bit it hard with white teeth.  "Yes," she said.  "I want to be with you."

They left the ballroom together, Sapphire still unsteady on her high heels, and went to the hotel front desk.  "I'm sorry, sir, the only room left tonight is the deluxe suite," said the clerk.

"I'll take it," said Bruce, pulling out his card.  His hand was shaking.  Beside him Sapphire was breathing fast.  She reached out and took his hand as the clerk ran the card through, agonizingly slowly.  The hand trembled in his.

The elevator doors shut and they were on each other, Sapphire pushed up against the far wall, Bruce's mouth on her throat, sliding down the the curve of her breasts above the neckline.  "I'm _wet_ ," Sapphire muttered.  "I'm so wet."  She shifted her stance, rubbing her legs against each other luxuriously.  Taffeta rustled.  "Jesus, that's good."

Bruce couldn't stop sucking at her throat, couldn't get his hands untangled from her hair before the doors opened again, startling a very proper Gotham matron.  "Sorry, ma'am," he managed before dragging Sapphire down the hall.  She stumbled on her heels again and stopped to pull them off, laughing uncontrollably, peals of husky mirth.  Bruce stopped as she paused there with her shoes in her hands and kissed her, his hands sliding to her ass and pulling her up against him hard.  "You want me," she murmured against his mouth, sounding disbelieving and smug at the same time.

"Yes."

"You're going to fuck me tonight."

"Oh, yes."

Her hand slid down the front of his tuxedo and across the bulge in his pants.  "You're going to fuck me with _this."_

"Yes.  But not here in the hall," he managed, turning to make his way down to their door.  Such a long hall.

She dropped the shoes as the door closed and threw her arms around his neck, tugging at his hair and kissing him fiercely.  Bruce maneuvered them to the bed and they fell onto it.  Bruce pulled away enough to rip off his bow tie with shaking hands while she stared at him, trailing her own hands across her silk-clad breasts.

Bruce flipped her long skirts up with a tumult of rustling, revealing long slender legs running to a pair of cherry-red lace underpants.  He reached up and slid them off, cupping her ass briefly.  "Wet," she moaned again, voice clotted with lust.  "So wet, Bruce, you've made me so wet."

Bruce leaned forward and kissed the inside of her thigh, damp curls against his cheek.  Blue silk all around him.  Sapphire said, "What are you doing?"

"This."  He slipped his tongue into the folds of her, silk and velvet and heat, and Sapphire went completely still, unbreathing.  He traced a lazy circle, savoring the flavor, flicking over her clit, and Sapphire said something that started with "God" and ended with "Bruce" and was an unintelligible howl in the middle.

Slowly, slowly, he built her toward her climax.  He dabbled his fingers in her wetness, then slowly slid one into her.  She grunted and stiffened, and he could hear her hands scrabbling in the silk and taffeta of her dress.  "In me," she said pantingly.  "Inside me.  Want you in me more.  Your cock--ah!" She arched her back, hot and close, and Bruce backed off, refusing to drive her over yet.  She fell silent, dragging in breaths.

"Keep talking," he said softly, brushing his tongue through dark curls.  "I like your voice."  He was so hard it was difficult to keep from just taking her.

"I shouldn't talk," she muttered.  "I don't want you to know--to know--ah!"  She broke off sharply again as he re-started his efforts.  "How much I wanted you, how much, Bruce, oh God, your tongue, your mouth, I never thought you'd--never thought of _this_ \--it's so _good,_ you're so _good_ and you're going to fuck me soon..."  Her body was coiled and her voice tense, taut with desire to the snapping point. 

Bruce nibbled gently and her body went suddenly limp for just a moment.  "Bruce," she said in a tiny voice, full of surprise, and then convulsed in uncontrollable pleasure, thrashing against his mouth and hands and making guttural noises, beyond any words.

She lay there panting as Bruce tore at his pants until they were gone and leaned above her, tugging her dress down to release her breasts with hands that fumbled more than they should, some playboy, but she didn't seem to care.  She was laughing when he entered her, the same joyous laugh that had captured him at the beginning of the evening, like bells pealing.  "Fucking me," she said, moving her hips against him, laughing.  "Yes."

She was exquisitely hot and tight, wet from her climax, and Bruce was half-crazy with her scent and taste, the feel of her breasts against him, he couldn't seem to go slowly, it was impossible.  He bunched her long dark hair in his hands and kissed her, tasting lipstick and laughter, the pressure in him winding tighter and closer and she was watching his face with her lips parted, rapt, and then he was coming, white-hot static starnoise in his head.  He heard himself making sounds, heard himself saying his lover's name, over and over, groaning with the pleasure of it, the near-unbearable goodness of it all.

His mind cleared enough to realize that she was staring at him, her bright blue eyes wide and unlaughing now.  "When did you figure it out?" she asked.

Bruce slid down beside her, tracing the line of her breast;  she reached out and halted his hand.  "When?"

"I'm not going to tell you," he said.  She glared at him.  "Consider it payback for trying to trick me."

A long pause.  Bruce looked over to see tears sparkling on the long lashes.  "I'm an idiot."  A hoarse breath.  "I...all I could think was that it might be my only chance.  Ever.  I'd never even let myself think it until the spell hit and I looked down and that was my first thought.  A chance with you."

Bruce propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her.  "You've let yourself think it now.  Will it go away when the spell is broken and you're back to normal?"

The bright eyes winced shut.  "I've never been normal.  Not about you.  And it'll never go away now.  Never."

"Good."  Bruce kissed her and felt the wet lashes spring open in surprise.  "I'm not going to let you weasel out of this and plead temporary insanity later, you know.  You've admitted it to me.  And to yourself.  There's no backing out now." 

He moved his hand from under her strong, strong grip, and she let it go, let him slide it to her breast.  Her eyes fell shut.  "All right," she said softly.  "No backing out."  His hands became more insistent, and she repeated herself, arching against him.  "No backing out."


End file.
